


snow stained blue with circuits

by vox_nihilio



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Tron - All Media Types
Genre: BUT IMMA TRY, Canon-Typical Violence, Hydra (Marvel), I dont even know how to write tron, I'm so sorry guys, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Rarepair, love the guy but he barely shows up in his own films, more tags will probably be added as this goes on, not sure what the hell I'm doing, rarepair hell, this is going to be the only fic in this ship isn't it, uprising tron is very traumatized
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25640833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vox_nihilio/pseuds/vox_nihilio
Summary: "Guess we both kicked the bucket, huh pal?” Bucky said, smiled again, tried not to think about little sisters and golden hair and singing drunk around a fire.Tron looked back at him. His mouth twitched. “Yes, I suppose we did ‘kick the bucket.’ ”OrTwo brainwashed assassins meet in an unfamiliar place. Problem is, neither of them remember they're brainwashed assassins.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tron
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	snow stained blue with circuits

**Author's Note:**

> These two have a lot in common. I thought it would be cool if they met. 
> 
> This is going to be pretty experimental and messy, especially at first? I'd imagine your head would be a confusing place if you were in their situations.
> 
> Comments are of course appreciated, please help me.

The last thing Bucky remembered was white. At the time he had thought it was the purest, most pale white he ever did see, snow for miles and miles. 

But he was wrong.

The white here was so pure that it hurt to look at. There was no ceiling, he would've thought there wasn't a floor if he wasn't lying on it. He pushed himself up, wincing at the pain in his shoulder that throbbed in time with his pulse.

Pulse?

Bucky put two fingers on his neck and felt a steady, if erratic, beat. Did ghosts have pulses? He looked around.

White.

But in the distance when he turned his head left he thought he saw a faint line of blue. Bucky was known in the commandos for his eyes, _sharper then a hawk, quicker then a shortstop, god Steve if they make me say that shit again I'm gonna hurl._ He got up and started walking.

After what felt like hours, could've been minutes, could've been days, there was a blue line in front of him. Several, each starting with tiny blue circles and leading away. Bucky had never seen anything so straight before. Even the buildings in Brooklyn slumped a little, the plaster between the bricks never quite this perfect. He shuddered and followed the lines.

The lines connected more and more before they congregated into a giant pattern, a city from up high in a half finished skyscraper. And the city, now spread all around him as if he were the skyscraper, led to a central square. A man who bore the same perfect lines, curled into a ball in the middle of a grid. 

"Hey pal," Bucky said standing above the man, fingers itching for a gun, a knife, anything, just in case. "You doing ok?"

The man's eyes opened, and Bucky's breath caught at the neon blue. He'd never seen a shade like that before in anywhere but in the signs of those clubs deep in the city. A hum began to emit from the man's back which was facing away from him. There was a wheel _attached_ to the man’s back, lined with the same blue and stark white lines in a black circle.

"You shouldn't be here." The voice was hoarse and muffled from the arm his face was hiding in. And it wavered like a radio broadcaster’s, except without the crackles and pops. 

“Yeah, I don’t think hell is supposed to look like this, but then again I’m not a religious authority on anything.” Bucky smiled and held out his hand. The man moved his arm away from his face and looked confused, tilted his head to the side. He looked from the hand to searching Bucky’s face as the smile slipped off. Bucky dropped his arm.

“Do you know Kevin Flynn?” The man said, and in even his strange wavering voice, Bucky could detect hope. The neon inscribed man scrambled upwards, and the lines on the ground connected to his feet like he was standing in the middle of shattering i _ce there was a chill in his bones and it wasn’t from the metal nor water they blasted him with_. “You are a User, are you not?”

“User? Is that a german word?” Bucky said and was surprised when icy fog didn’t bellow out with the words. His hands were shivering. The white on the ground might as well been snow with how fucking cold he was. Maybe this guy was an experiment like him? Dying while still in Hydra's control, unlucky bastard.

The man tilted his head the other way and Bucky was reminded of the alley cat that followed him around in the dockyards. “I was programmed by an American.” He stepped forward and laid his hand on the bare skin of Bucky’s arm. His eyes did not leave Bucky’s, and widened by a fraction. “You are not a User.” His hand tightened. “You are not a program either. What are you?” _Put the Asset in storage-_

Bucky wrenched his arm away. "Look pal, I don’t know where you come from, but that’s not how we tend to say hello.”

Maybe this guy was French. If death was the final equalizer, maybe it could be a translator too? He held out his hand again. “Hello, my name is James Barnes. I’m an American soldier in the Howling Commandos. And you are?” 

The man took his hand hesitantly. There was no shame present from the grabbing of his arm before. Italian perhaps? “Tron. I am a security program for the Grid.” The man- _Tron?_ went rigid and finally looked away from Bucky’s eyes. “Or...I was?” 

“Guess we both kicked the bucket, huh pal?” Bucky said, smiled again, tried not to think about _little sisters and golden hair and singing drunk around a fire._

Tron looked back at him. His mouth twitched. “Yes, I suppose we did ‘kick the bucket.’ ”

“You understand the expression?” Bucky said, letting go of his hand. 

Tron’s mouth quirked into a real smile. “Somebody taught it to me.” 

“Kevin Flynn?” Bucky said. It certainly sounded like an American name. Maybe it was this guy’s commander and he was just very confused?

“Yes.” Tron shot his eyes up. “Do you know who he is?"

Something nudged at his mind but Bucky grimaced. Maybe." He said. "Do you know what unit he was in?"

Tron tilted his head again like the goddamn dockyard cat and said "He wasn't any unit. He was the Creator of the Grid."

Nothing from Steve's Sunday school, or muttered Hebrew from his mother prepared him for this. Before Bucky could get into unearthing what the hell kind of church this guy attended, Tron's mood shifted into concern. “James, your arm.”

Bucky looked at his arm and found pieces of it breaking away. Fractures and splintered lines shattering bits of his arm into the white of the world. _His arm was not torn off, so much as shattered apart. Bits of blood in long lines down the ravine wall._ Pain began to lace throb from what remained of his arm. He clutched at his shoulder, which was rapidly becoming a stump and heard a hiss from Tron. _Steve hit the ground with his teeth clenched_

Bucky looked over to find scars webbing all over Tron’s body, with a gouged out grave of an eye being the center. _They gouged out his arm before inserting._ He didn’t have pieces falling off, the damage kept twisting inwards. 

“ _What’s happening?”_ Said a voice which was _not_ Tron’s. It was deep and modulated. Bucky tried to open his mouth, say something, but his mouth was stuck shut. It was if someone had placed a muzzle on him. Nothing came out but a whine deep in his throat. _Sir, the Asset is waking up sir, what do we-_

_Sir_

Tron was screaming, flickering from his normal radio wave voice to the deep wrenching tones.

_Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant._

_32557038_

His arm was gone, oh god.

_The metal felt so heavy._

Where was

_he strangled the man next to him and felt nothing at all._

Out of the corner of his eye he saw black lines spread through the white, like oil rivulets in snow.

_Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant._

He crashed on his knees. His arm was gone, yet the pain remained.

_His head throbbed so hard the world shifted places when the shocks finally stopped_

This wasn't death.

_Barnes, James Buchanan._

It was worse.

_Barnes, James_

Tron was on the floor, and the oil began to spread from him in fractured lines. The entire place was turning black.

_They put a device on his head and connected it to countless wires. He could see the reflection in the metal of his arm_

There was no snow, no white. Everything was black and Tron was curled into a ball, still screaming. The black was infecting him too.

  
  


_Barnes_

_Sir he's waking up_

  
  
  


The Asset woke.

  
  



End file.
